by ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
I thought she was insane, at first. I probably should have mentioned I’m a little on the blunt side. Wouldn’t think it to look at me, would you, hmm? Most people don’t expect it from a guy who usually has his nose stuck in a book and who, according to Ushio (and I quote) "looks like a pansy." Sahry, hunny. Ah just don’t swing that way. I probably should have mentioned that I’m also a little on the dramatic side. Not as much as she is, or even Kas, but no one’s worse than she is. I guarantee. But, anyway, back to the insanity. In more ways than you’ll ever know. As I mentioned, I thought she was insane. The blue-green hair didn’t help very much, I’ll admit, but you learn very quickly that Lynn very often thinks on a totally different plane than most people. She has to; it’s her job to deal with "abnormal" things and "out of the park" people. It can throw you off-course if you’re brave enough to try a conversation, because what may seen two and two to her are sixty-six and twelve (and therefore unrelated) to a normal person. Like I’ve said, I thought she was insane. Most people do. But I’ve wondered. Remember what I said abut sixty-six and twelve? Some of it makes sense, but maybe that’s something more to do with how much time I spend with her, listening to Kas about magical theories and trying to follow from ‘a’ to ‘f’ to ‘d’ to ‘z’. It rubs off on you after a while. This type of insanity must be contagious. I’ve often wondered. But I digress. I tend to do that once in a while. She was waving her arms around and spouting off at Kas about some adventure-ordeal-trauma they just encountered, and I - not knowing they’d returned - walked in on it. See, people tend to look at me and think "Aw, how cute; so innocent." Maybe it’s the hair (yes, it is actually gray; no, I did not have an accident with a peroxide bottle or a dye kit), coupled with the fact that I’m young, and my face shows it. Great for when I get older and look ten years younger than my peers, bad for when the girl you’re trying to talk to thinks you’re twelve or something. I can’t wait to start drinking; I’ll get carded ‘til I’m fifty. But back to the screaming. I wasn’t about to say anything - hey, you walk in on Kas and Lynn when one or both are hysterical, and you see what happens - but they saw me. Not before I’d seen and heard things I apparently wasn’t, and Lynn flipped out even more (yeah, I know, I didn’t think it was possible either), shrieking about Kas blabbing about magic to anyone who’d listen, and watching their backs (not knowing, obviously, that I don’t pose an ounce of trouble to her on that point; I ought to have shaken Kas for that…you need to know your allies!) Have I mentioned Lynn has trust issues? So I did what anyone with a third of their brain working would have done. I summoned magic. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Now, I should probably reiterate that Lynn has trust issues. Coming from the type of background that she does, knowing what she does, she’s of the mindset (understandably) that nothing is as it seems, never trust on sight, never let them see you cry. Regardless, she still wasn’t quick enough to hide that oh-so-extremely-telling dro of his jaw. I’ve always loved getting the best of her. Can you blame me? She must always have the last word, have the last smirk, shoot the last (and preferably killing) bullet. Tenacious, too. Like I said: can you blame me? ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ She, obviously, didn’t trust me right off; that goes without saying. Even when Kas started ranting and raving as she usually does, going on about how we’d known each other since forever, being practically brother and sister, all the reaction Lynn gave (having gotten herself under control) was a lift of a blue-green eyebrow and a skeptical curl of an oh-so-pretty bottom lip. Hey, I never said I didn’t think she was pretty. Lynn didn’t know what to make of us. It’s quite likely that both Kas’ fighting and my showy display are the only things that kept her from running away as quickly as possible in the other direction, probably screaming the entire way too. I’d believe it. But she stayed, poor prickly, acid-tongued, little girl. You never knew if you wanted to slap her for the insolent remarks she constantly made, or pull her close because you knew that sarcasm was her main - sometimes only - defense. You wanted to promise her that she didn’t need to be scared anymore, tell her how beautiful and kind she was underneath that hard-to-crack shell. Cliché, I’m sure, but I’m no poet; I don’t use fancy language often enough to like using it, and as I said, I’m rather on the blunt side. You had to care about her, though very often you weren’t sure why. I think, for me the madness started when I went to heal her, and found gravel in her wound. No winces, no gasps of pain ever let on that she was hurt; no reaction when she was Healed. People find themselves drawn to and repelled from her at the same time; Kas calls it (with a smile) "part of her charm." But do you know… I don’t think I’d have her any other way.
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